“Nothing yet.”
“What! nothing? and it’s ten o’clock! For whom are you waiting to begin your concert?”
“Little Martin hasn’t come yet, to play the piano accompaniments.”
“Isn’t his sister here?”
“Yes, but she won’t play to-night; she’s sick; she’s having one of her nervous attacks.”
“Ah, yes! that’s quite natural. But where’s your husband?”
“He’s gone out to get a ‘cello part and to borrow a second violin, so that we can have a quartette.”
“It seems to me that it would have been well to set about it a little sooner.”
“Why, the poor man’s been running his legs off ever since dinner. He had to fetch Madame Rosemonde and her daughter, then go to the musical instrument maker’s for a double bass, then send for Mademoiselle Luquet’s harp, then go to make sure that Monsieur Crachini could come; in fact, there’s no end to what he’s had to do!”
“I can see that he has had his hands full.”